Love Comes First
by theglamourfades
Summary: Some songs stay with you for all of your life - and then even after. Alex-centric, with eventual Galex.


**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed/followed/favourited my first A2A fic! It's amazing to have such wonderful feedback in a fandom that has been going strong for some years, and equally reassuring to know the demand for new fic is there.**

 **I couldn't stay away for very long! A2A has very strong ties with music for me, both from the '80s and more contemporary choices, and this fic was borne out of that connection. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes To Ashes - that honour goes to Ashley Pharoah/Matthew Graham/Kudos.**

* * *

 _Love Comes First_

She looked into the mirror in front of her, conjuring up the beginnings of a smile as she appraised her appearance. The lipstick was fine – though she really would have preferred a striking shade of red as opposed to the rose-blush pink, but it was better than nothing – and she was getting there with the electric blue eyeshadow. Touching fingertips to her temples, she exhaled a small sigh as she pulled the skin slightly taut. It was the eyeliner proving to be her downfall at the moment. She had underestimated how tricky it would be; mascara was a doddle, and the glossy magazines that littered her dresser table gave such elegant, easy examples. Instead she had nearly poked her eyes out several times over trying to copy their guides, the right one always coming off worse than the left. The black lines were the neatest she had managed to date yet they still wiggled precariously, coming to rest in two fat blobs flicking out from the corners of her eyes.

A few moments while her frustration faded away, and she felt easier. Her smile was wider as she stared deeper at her reflection. The make-up brushed across her features made her feel better. _This was the Alex Price she wanted to be. Happy, smiling, confident. Ready to take on the world and damn anyone who tried to get in her way._

 _Not the Alex Price who took to hiding in shadows by herself, getting away as far as she could from all of the whispers and taunts. Alex Price, the girl whose parents had been blown to bits. Little orphan Alex. Rumour has it that she should have perished with them, that the explosion hadn't been a tragic accident. There were so many rumours, and they followed her like demons into her dreams, kept the company of the pale-faced clown in the puffed-up costume who was waiting for her every time she closed her eyes._

She wiped the cotton-wool over her eyes, removing the black smudges and taking the perfect blue with it. Her hair hung straight over her shoulders, the curling tongs she had received for her birthday – after much begging and pleading – untouched for this evening. Reaching behind her, she pulled the leather-look jacket onto her shoulders, satisfied at the feeling of it cloaking her skin. She had saved up her money for the white version and had been heartbroken to discover the last gone from the store when she went up there on a Saturday morning with Katrina, not even one to be seen on the mannequin. The black did almost as well, and it happened to go very well with her favourite dress; the dress she wore now, white with black and blue polka-dots, frilling out into a ra-ra skirt that ended above her knees.

The remote to the stereo rested at the end of her bed and she grabbed it as she jumped from her seat, the thud of her feet upon the floor promptly muffled as the music burst into life. It was the happiest she had felt in _ages_ ; the way she looked, her favourite song playing to drown out the fear and inadequacy that were her constant companions. Her finger held itself down unthinkingly on the volume control button, her body swirling and twirling to the sound. She reached blindly for the hairbrush upon her dresser, grasping it as her makeshift microphone as she started to sing along as well as dance.

 _# When the night falls down  
I wait for you, and you come around  
And the world's alive  
With the sound of kids on the street outside #_

She left the other Alex far behind her, leaving her to cry her little girl's tears on the hillside. She was herself now, growing stronger as she spun around, losing herself to the beat of the music. There wasn't a crowd surrounding her but she didn't need one. She had Katrina, her best friend since they were little and the only one she needed. They walked along the darkening street lit by lamplight arm-in-arm, sharing giggles as they got closer to the group of boys they had started to hang about with. Though she smiled and shared fleeting glances with one or two she wasn't interested in any of them seriously, despite what Evan probably thought. She didn't want to do anything else other than lift her head up and keep on walking, breathing in the clear air and laughing loudly as Katrina made a series of dirty comments.

She only wanted to keep dancing, dancing until she was close to falling from the edge of the world.

The door of her room opening went unheard, and Evan's figure in the frame was a blur before her eyes.

"That's a bit loud," he noted, coming inside without asking and lowering the volume without any regard for what she thought. "Can hear it through the ceiling."

Her bottom lip pouted as she glared at him, eyes flaring. He took a look at her outfit, the blusher on her cheeks and lipstick still in place, and the familiar, particular expression settled upon his face. The one that was resigned, quiet but unmistakable in showing his disapproval. That was Evan, never coming out with what he really thought but leaving her to figure it out for herself. She wondered sometimes if he did it purposely, and though it sent shivers of irritation running through her she actually rather liked working people out. She would just prefer a different model to test herself on; one less transparent.

His eyes softened while he stepped back. "I'm just thinking of the neighbours. Wouldn't want to give them the chance to complain, would we, Scrap?"

"Don't call me that!" She shouted like she needed to make herself heard over the music, even though it was but a murmur now. "I'm fourteen years old. I'm not a child."

"Alright," Evan returned, his voice cautious. "No more Scrap. Alex from now on."

"Please."

She held her head back as she looked squarely at him. It had always been _Alex_ with her mum and dad, only _Alexandra_ when she had done something to make them angry or disappointed. She didn't like nicknames; she had no ownership of what other people choosed to call her. Evan was the only person she had let get away with it, but the term of endearment made her skin crawl now. Scrap was weak and defenceless, let herself be pushed around and walked over.

Alex was strong, self-capable because she had to be. She kept the memory of being loved, idolised and protected, but she didn't let anyone use it against her.

She remembered the leather jacket and ra-ra frills, and felt vaguely ridiculous. Evan wasn't stupid, after all. He wasn't as intelligent as her dad but by now she admitted to herself that Evan probably knew her better than he ever did.

"You off to see Katrina?"

"No," she admitted quietly. "She's got a family thing. Her mum's birthday, I think."

He tried to hide the other expression she was all too familiar with but he never managed to get there quickly enough. It was okay, it didn't matter. Other people still had mums who had birthdays. Scrap might whine and cry about it, but Alex didn't.

The song faded and then came to its end, the brief silence before the next one began echoing around her. Silence that brought back to life how things really were, scrubbing out all of her fantasies, ripping them to shreds before they'd even begun.

Evan was smiling at her, commiserating. "Just you and me then," he caught himself before he uttered the name, " _Alex_."

She padded downstairs, having changed into a t-shirt and jeans for dinner. The room was quiet while they ate, the same as usual. Routine was comforting. People could fall apart when it was interrupted, the consequences to the human mind could be devastating. She had read that in the mammoth psychology textbook that she had borrowed from the school library and which was currently residing beneath her bed.

As she gently pushed her empty plate away, she felt Evan's gaze upon her. She tried to think of something to say before he got there first, but her mind had gone blank. It was strange how it did that.

"Five days away," he said simply. "It goes so fast."

She kept her head down, examining the pattern upon the china. Not wanting to think about what month they found themselves in; not wanting to feel the heat of the explosion, her breath being stolen for seconds as she watched the flames rise at an astonishing speed.

A few moments passed by, and when she looked up she saw a trace of a smile upon Evan's face. It made her feel strange and sick.

"You know that you can talk to me. Any time, about anything." The clink of cutlery sent a pulse against her head as he arranged it on his plate, looking down to her end of the table. "If you ever want to know more about them. I think you're old enough now not to be...confused by things."

The feeling permeated deeper and she had the urge to get up, bring the table crashing to the floor. She knew enough, all that she needed to. It wasn't as though finding out anything more about her parents was going to bring them back. It was okay. They had been strangers to her for most of her life. Even when they were alive she conceded that she didn't know them, having spent more time away from home than nestled between the both of them, but it hadn't meant that they hadn't cherished her. There wasn't only one way to love.

She didn't mean to spend her time living in the past, and neither would they be found in the future. It was fine for a phrase in a pop song but there was no such thing as heaven. No such thing as guardian angels, and her mum and dad certainly weren't watching over her now. It was just as well, really, as she wasn't sure that she would make them proud. Though she was trying.

"May I be excused, please?"

She waited for Evan to give his consent before she stood, washing her plate before she went back to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Her hand hesitated for a moment, thinking herself silly, but she eventually pushed down the rewind button on the stereo.

No more dancing, at least not tonight. Instead she flopped down onto her bed, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling before letting her eyes drift closed. The clown didn't appear as she woke elsewhere, thank God.

With the words of the song still floating somewhere in the distance, she made another chant to herself.

 _Don't let them get to you, Alex. Don't care what they think of you. You're stronger than that._

 _You can make it. Because you are Alex Price._

Wherever her parents were, tonight she didn't wish that she was there with them.

* * *

She stood at the stove, pausing to take a sip of the Sauvignon Blanc not long poured from the bottle before focusing her attentions back on the bubbling pan. The aroma of the sauce was too good to resist and she touched the tip of the spoon to her tongue, impatience leaving her faintly burnt but on balance it was worth it. It made a pleasant change for her to be cooking; while she wasn't the world's best she could more than stretch to spaghetti. There was an almost eerie silence above her head, the usual dull thud of bass reverberating through the ceiling missing, and she smiled wryly. They were both doing things differently tonight.

The last few days had been lovely, the long weekend a welcome break and timed perfectly so that she could enjoy the end of Molly's summer holiday with her. They'd gone shopping and to the cinema, had a picnic with Evan by the river and today had been quite productive, as between them they'd set about doing a much-needed clear-out of the house. She hardly believed how many pairs of trainers Molly had accumulated, boxes piled high at the back of the wardrobe. She had been about to scold her for not getting rid of them sooner, especially as several pairs no longer fit her, when she realised that the blame for most of the haul lay squarely with herself. With a bright pink sparkly shoe in each hand, a wave of sentimentality hit Alex as she considered that her baby wasn't quite that anymore. The years had flown by so fast, and she had forgotten too much of them.

She wasn't sure if it was the glittering trainers that did it, but she had decided that something needed to change. Her career had been so consuming that she had missed out on so many milestones. There was only one more summer and then Molly would be starting secondary school. She sighed inwardly, realising that the change couldn't happen any time in the near future. The case files that she had been sent were lying on her bedside cabinet, proving to be absorbing night-time reading. It was truly fascinating – if not more than a little mind-boggling – and though she wanted to refrain from turning potential clients into examples this case was so unheard of that she could see no other option. She was already formulating the structure of the specific chapter – if this didn't warrant a whole book to itself – and had notebooks scattered around the house, handy for whenever a bit of relevant research popped into her head that might prove worth revisiting.

Even now, allowing her thinking to spiral again, guilt gnawed at her. These days needed to be about Molly. She had been too young to process it at the time, but now she was well aware of the resentment she harboured towards her own mother for getting swept up in work rather than spending time with her. She wouldn't make the same mistakes - and a good helping of spaghetti would be the first step.

"Molls!" She didn't raise her voice that loudly, given that the house was quiet. "Dinner's almost ready."

She opened the door to the patio on her way to setting the table, making the most of the good weather. As she turned back into the room she found Molly standing in the archway, her hair down - which made another break from routine. She looked so much like her namesake, her great-great grandmother, that it stopped Alex in her tracks for a few seconds.

"Everything alright?" she asked, shaking herself out of the descent back in time, aware that her voice sounded overly chirpy.

Molly nodded. "Just going through some of the stuff from the attic."

There had been a couple of dust-covered boxes at the very back that Molly had seized upon whilst she had sorted through the more recent junk, and she hadn't the faintest idea what was hiding within, leaving Molly to it. She cringed for a moment; she was fairly sure that she had binned all of her teenage journals long ago but now was second-guessing herself.

Her sigh of relief was just about inaudible when Molly thrust forward a smaller box for inspection, the contents rattling as she shook it slightly.

"What's this?"

"Ah, these relics are what we would call a _cassette player and tapes_ ," Alex pronounced the words purposefully slowly, smiling at the blast from her past. "Before there were such things as iPods these were all the rage."

"Centuries ago, you mean," Molly retorted with a smirk.

"Well technically, yes, but I don't think that's what you're getting at, young lady."

She pulled out the player by its portable handle and unfurled the cable, wondering whether it would still work – it didn't look too battered up, though God knows the last time she had set eyes upon it never mind tried to use it. No sparks flew when she switched on the plug, which was a good sign, and she turned back to Molly who was in possession of the assortment of tapes.

"Your choice, Molls."

Molly frowned as she handed over one at random. "I'm not going to have a clue about any of them."

Alex smiled, taking the tape from her daughter's hand and inserting it upside-down – though the right way round for the player. "It'll be an education. Don't tell school you didn't learn anything in the holidays."

Though she hadn't heard the music in ages it was instantly familiar to her as it started to play, and she was transported even further, remembering bright colours and frilly skirts, laughter that was rare and precious.

"Oh, this was my favourite song when I was your age!" she exclaimed, starting to side-step with her feet. "Actually, I was probably a bit older."

She started to turn, raising her arms above her head as she sashayed from the kitchen into the dining area. As the music blasted Molly looked far from impressed, though Alex noticed amidst everything that she was tapping one foot in time to the melody subconsciously.

"You can be so embarrassing sometimes, Mum," she remarked, half-drowned out by Alex's impromptu singing. _How had she recalled the lyrics as clear as day, when sometimes she could barely remember what had happened a week ago?_

"It's not like we've got an audience," Alex countered, thinking mischievously that she rather enjoyed embarrassing her only daughter. She came to a stop in front of the chair Molly was glued to, holding out an outstretched hand. "Dance with me, Molls."

As expected, she pulled a face and shrieked. "Mum! No way."

"Come on," she tugged lightly, getting Molly to at least stand. "I know you can. Where's the harm in making your mum happy?"

Molly rolled her eyes before relenting, putting her arms upwards. She wasn't yet a teenager but already she was prone to terribly stroppy moments, complaining of the worst shame whenever Alex so much as said hello to one of her friends. She hoped that she was never as bad with Evan, though she was probably much worse, given everything.

Though she wouldn't thank her for it, she couldn't help but laugh at the scowl settled firmly on Molly's face as she was effectively coerced into dancing. She quickly started to give in, and even managed a smile as the song continued to play.

 _# When you walk into the room  
You pull me close and we start to move  
And we're spinning with the stars above  
And you lift me up in a wave of love # _

Echoing the lyrics she grasped Molly by the waist, hoisting her off the floor.

"This was a lot easier when you were tiny."

"Mum, you've actually lost it."

Alex laughed as she brought her back down, a sustained effort proving too much. She planted a sloppy kiss to Molly's cheek as her heels hit the floor again. "But you'll always be my baby."

" _Mum_ ," she frowned, though she sounded softer, more empathetic instead of mortified. "You really need to find a boyfriend. What happened to that James guy?"

Alex shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, concentrating on the music. James Collingwood was a trauma specialist who had been drafted in to work with her recently, helping with some of her research. They got on well professionally as well as sharing some common interests outside of work, and he had asked her if she'd like to go to dinner with him a month or so ago. She had been ready to go through with it up until the day before when she called him to cancel; her heart simply wasn't in it. She wasn't sure that it was wise to mix business with pleasure, and also didn't know that she was really cut out for relationships any more – not that they had ever proved all that successful.

It wasn't a subject she particularly wanted to discuss in depth with her ten year old daughter, but at the same time she didn't dismiss the natural curiosity.

"I don't know. He's nice and all, but I just don't think he's my type."

"Maybe when you get back from Manchester, you could text him."

If there was one thing that she had inherited from her, it was the ability to cling onto something tenaciously and refuse to let drop.

She smiled and shook her head, though the surge of guilt she had tried to shake off returned with the mention of her impending trip. It had been mentioned that it may be beneficial for her to immerse herself in Sam Tyler's world in an attempt to see if there was anything there that could have contributed to his delusions, and last week she had been given the news that he was willing to speak with her. But it could take a matter of weeks, months even, if she was to make a real breakthrough. She considered taking Molly with her but she didn't want to disrupt her routine, especially with school starting up again so soon.

"You know why I have to go, don't you?"

"Yeah, the book."

She hadn't gone into detail about Sam Tyler with Molly. She didn't want her to be influenced by his ideas; even though Molly was sensible she was also at an impressionable age, when anything the least bit out of the ordinary seemed intriguing – and what had happened with Tyler was anything but ordinary.

"It's okay, Mum. I know it's important to you."

Alex pursed her lips as she looked towards her little girl. She was growing up at an alarming rate, fiddling with her mobile phone on the table.

"It won't be for long, I promise." _Don't cry, Alex_. "You'll have Evan, and you know that he's a soft touch when it comes to you. You probably won't even want me back afterwards because I'm far too strict in comparison."

"Don't be silly."

She was unbearably happy to have such a quick dismissal, the silly grin blooming upon her face. Once the book was finished she was going to spend so much more time at home, perhaps even taking a year off duty before Molly got too old to appreciate her company.

"I'll miss you, Mum, but I know you have to do this." She gave a reassuring smile, acting as though she was the parent. "It's cool."

Alex sometimes wished she knew what was really meant by that; it was Molly's favourite word and she seemed to apply it to everything under the sun. But she'd take it, without any need for explanation.

"You and me," she said, hurrying back to the stove to take the overheating pan off the boil; the music had distracted her far too much. "We're a team."

Once again she was met with a look of disdain from her daughter. It seemed she was quite the expert in causing mortal embarrassment and it was something she was immensely proud of.

"When I get back we'll have pizza for a whole week," she promised.

Molly remained engrossed in her mobile phone, looking up only when the plate had been filled in front of her.

"Cool," she acknowledged, typically. "But can I ask something else?"

"Of course," Alex replied, vaguely worried for a moment.

Molly nodded her head in the direction of the still-activated cassette player. "Can we listen to Shakira instead?"

* * *

She sat in one of her usual spots, nursing her glass of wine and doing what she could to ignore the dull throb in her head. It would pass with time – and then come right back round again ten minutes later.

Time was a funny concept, especially here. Morning was indistinguishable from noon, which was just the same as the evening. It didn't really make any difference to her; each hour was spent in a near identical manner, markers no longer needed or even acknowledged. However, if any newcomer had asked her she could say with a fair degree of certainty that it was getting on for about ten pm. The television screens that had been blaring the football match had gone blank once more, making way for another form of entertainment.

The jukebox was being taken full advantage of tonight, nearly everyone gathering around it, the spirits behind the bar not the only ones that were high. Chris hadn't even finished his display of body-popping when Ray elbowed him out of the way, putting a few coins into the machine. As the strains of Marvin Gaye started up, pleading to _let's get down tonight_ , the room was treated to the sight of him wiggling his hips while he moved forward, attempting to impress the latest busty blonde sitting near the end of the bar.

A guffaw of laughter was loud in her left ear. She stared past Ray and his dancing, too dispirited to bring a trace of a smile to her face.

"Jesus Christ," Sam composed himself enough to form a coherent sentence, "some things never change."

After a few moments Alex turned her head to look at him, sitting by her side, the relaxed expression worn with ease and a half-finished pint sitting in front of him. She had no trouble believing that this was where he was meant to be, a happy home for all eternity. He belonged here and didn't want for anything. Her, on the other hand...

She had always struggled to fit in wherever she went, and she supposed that this was the closest she had got. The people that surrounded her were the truest friends she had ever had. Yet the sunken feeling had remained with her from the moment she had stepped through the doors; she was so used to it by now that it ought to have become second nature. For all the music, noise and laughter about her she may as well have been alone in an empty, darkened room. While Sam was standing tall in the sunshine, she was cast into shadow. A ghost of her former self.

She hesitated for a little while, warring with herself and feeling again that she was a burden to everyone here with her constant moping. The need in her was too strong, the ache in the centre of her chest so painful that it caused her agony every time she breathed in and out.

Sam's gaze swivelled towards her as she kept her hand on his arm, sensing a kind of transference that made her heart stutter with false hope, unbearable but enough for her to cling onto. The request had become so commonplace that she was past having to ask him.

"There isn't anything that you haven't already heard," he answered her silent plea, mournful for her as she stared at him.

She nodded, resigned; the stories she had made him tell were all so familiar that she would be able to reel them off detail for detail to anyone else. And yet she couldn't help herself - but then again who could do anything for the helpless? She kept fooling herself that the second-hand memories were just as good as the prospect of seeing him real before her again. If she didn't have anything to look forward to then there was nothing wrong in looking back, conjuring up the vision more real than she had ever really believed. That coat, those boots. The swagger and macho bullshit so passe and predictable, driving her crazy. Those eyes that went straight to her soul and made her weak but stronger than she had ever been while she was really living and breathing.

"I know. But please, just tell me something. Anything." She despised how desperate she sounded, but in truth she was past caring. "At least that way one of us won't have forgotten."

Her heart shattered at the thought, that everything she had fought for had been for nothing - but more because it meant that she would be nothing to him but another face in the crowd, a name on a long list.

Sam frowned deeply; such a foreign look on his face. "You don't honestly believe that?"

She shrugged. "It's happened before. History has a habit of repeating itself."

With a sorrowful smile soon faded, he let her into his version of the world outside the doors of the pub once again and she hung onto every word, Gene coming to life through every one of his unique phrases and acts of reckless heroism. Her heart soared as much as it pined; all at once she felt immensely alive and condemned to her lonely fate. It was so typical that she could almost laugh at it. Only she, Alex Drake, would be unlucky enough to find the love of her life once it had come to an end and be forced to surrender him for the greater good. She should have took heart from the fact that she was helping others on their way to eternal rest by leaving him to do his job, but bugger it. She was dead at an early age, she'd never see her daughter grow up into the woman she still dreamed she would become. Surely it wasn't so unforgiveable that she craved some selfish happiness?

Sam's story of a foiled blag was abruptly interrupted, and Alex would have been furious that her dreams of Gene had been snatched away if it was anyone else other than Shaz who was responsible.

"Ma'am, it's your turn," she uttered brightly.

Alex pushed the assortment of coins back into her hand, but stood up, aware of the way both Shaz and Sam were looking at her. They all tried in their own ways to cheer her up, day after day, and while she knew that they meant well nothing ever worked for very long. If she was of a different mindset she would have worried about them complaining behind her back about how miserable she was.

"Have you got any requests, Shaz?" she asked, her heart less in the mood for merriment than usual.

The younger woman shook her head. "Your choice, Ma'am. And you've got ace taste in music, so I trust you."

She smiled weakly, the throng dissipating as she made her way over to the luminous glowing jukebox. Her hand held onto the side of it while she scrolled through the choices, eyes unseeing. She settled on a selection but even before the song had begun she regretted choosing it. It had so much more relevance to her now, and the irony arrowed her in the chest along with her renewed anguish.

 _# When I feel alone  
I reach for you, and you bring me home  
When I'm lost at sea  
I hear your voice and it carries me #_

His voice was in her head all the time, calling her _Bollykecks_ and telling her how much of a fruitcake she was. God, she'd give anything to bicker with him again, shouting themselves hoarse at one another until something would give. It'd only happen because they were of the same mind and possessed exactly the same temperament. _The same soul._ She turned as the music played on to see the others; Shaz and Chris dancing to the beat, Sam and Annie laughing together cuddled on their seat. Ray seemed to be having some luck getting ahead with the blonde at the bar, she giggling as he leant over to whisper in her ear. It wasn't their fault, of course, but if she reached out at this very moment she would find nothing to comfort her.

She should have fought harder. Her thoughts were haunted by her regrets of not clinging onto him that first and last time their lips met with just the faintest of brushes. A goodbye kiss, bittersweet. She felt more stuck in limbo here, the place that was meant to give her peace. The place she really belonged was with Gene, standing by his side as they took on the world together.

 _# In this world we're just beginning  
To understand the miracle of living  
Baby, I was afraid before  
But I'm not afraid anymore #_

It was all too much, all of her old fears rushing back to pull her under a crashing wave. Everything was coloured by her loss and how unfair it was that she was being denied the one person who could make this existence bearable. The tears blurred her vision, clutching onto the jukebox as she let the plea fall in a whisper from her lips. _One day._

She shuddered registering the hand touching her back softly. _Not him._ That would have been absurd, even for this scenario which was hardly comprehensible at the best of times.

The sympathetic eyes met her own again as they had so many nights before, usually while she was sobbing her heart out in the ladies'.

"Don't be sad, Alex, ey?" Annie's voice was reliably soft and soothing, "I know that it's alright for me to say it, but the Guv would want you to be happy." She chanced a smile as the seconds stretched on. "'e's a man of 'is word, if anyone is."

Alex swallowed hard, just about stopping the tears cascading from her eyes.

"Every night I think this is going to be it," she tried her best to explain her fraught emotions, "I watch that door and I convince myself that he's going to walk through."

Anyone would have expected her to have learnt her lesson by now. A clever girl like her.

Annie's eyes were full of understanding, her hand rubbing against Alex's arm. They had got on like a house on fire from the moment Sam had introduced them. Annie was intuitive, sharp as a tack but also the kindest, most considerate soul Alex had ever come across, the combination of qualities not one which she had found common in her own world. She wished that she would have had a friend like Annie back there, but the thought crossed her mind that she probably needed her more here and now.

"And when he doesn't..." her ragged breath caught in her throat, the pain of reliving the unfulfilled promise beginning to make her ever so weary, "...it's like losing everything all over again."

Even though Keats hadn't got to her – Gene standing in his path, sacrificing himself, making sure that she was safe – it was though she had been damned anyway. The thought of having to stand it for a second longer made her heart contract in agony, and yet this was her forever. She'd have no choice but to get used to it.

"You know why 'e let you go, don't you?"

Alex considered the question, thinking about it often, mostly when she was lying in bed wide awake. She always thought about it logically when she asked it of herself. When Annie asked she allowed herself to really believe the reason that her heart held most dear. In the times that she wanted to rage at him for making her leave him she considered that if their positions were switched she would have done just as he had.

That's what you do; you put the ones you love before yourself.

It hurt her deeply but the thought that he _loved_ her was what was keeping her holding on.

"I think I'll have an early night," she said, smiling gratefully at Annie as she started to back away.

Annie never tried to persuade her otherwise, knowing better than most that she needed the space on her own, just to be by herself and grieve for all of her missed chances.

"You get some kip," Annie's Mancunian accent sounded stronger for a few moments. "I'll see to it that they keep it down."

Alex shook her head to say that there was no need, glad that there was enough happiness to go around. She took a detour to the bar, perching herself half on a stool.

"What can I get you, mon brav?"

"The usual, please, Nelson," she replied with a sigh. "Actually, I wouldn't mind the bottle rather than a glass."

Her alcohol intake was reaching worrying levels again, but she couldn't see that it mattered much. She wondered how long being dead would prove to be a valid excuse for everything considered not beneficial for her.

Nelson obliged her, filling her glass almost to the brim and placing the remainder at its side. Leaning over the bar towards her she thought that perhaps she was hearing things when his voice also transformed. _Jesus, Alex, you really have gone completely insane._

"Let me pass on some advice that might help you," he said, his tone genial and calm. "Enjoy the moment while it's here. Too many people let it go by."

She stared with glassy eyes up at him, the harsh truth in his words cutting to her. It was something she should have done long ago, as far back as when she was a child and her parents were still there to comfort her. She had never taken it on board, was always too concerned with looking ahead and searching for more. Instead of appreciating what she had when she had it she always waited to do so once it had disappeared.

"You never know what's round the corner," he concluded, leaning back and cleaning a pint glass with a flash of a white smile.

"I suppose you don't," she pondered. "In my case it was a madman with a gun waiting to blast a hole through my brain. Aren't I the lucky one?"

She left a note on the bar, thinking that Nelson deserved a hefty tip for remaining so polite in the face of her horrendous moods. It was time to put a stop to them, or at least try harder. She'd do that in the morning; first, she needed to drown her sorrows.

Leaving the party behind her she went up to the saloon bar, its silence a sharp contrast to the booming sound that had accompanied her all evening. In her mind's eye she could see Molly with her knees pulled up to her chest, sitting in her bedroom, the same posters on the wall. She hid her face from view but it was obvious she was crying; she'd been bottling her emotions up, waiting until she could be alone to let them go. How she longed to gather her up in her arms, have another girls' night full of terribly cheesy films and too much chocolate. Just to hold her close, sniff her hair, whisper in her ear. _You're so brave, Molls, and I'm so proud. I'll watch over you, wherever you go._

She should have said that angels were real, after all. Her own avenging angel was out there on the streets, somewhere she could no longer be.

Nestling herself into a seat, she held the bottle in her hand and studied the label. Red wasn't her favourite but she didn't drink anything else now. It reminded her of nights in Luigi's, hours spent sitting at their table, most of the time took up by taking not-so-subtle glances at one another. If it was possible he looked even more gorgeous by the time he'd sunk a few, nicely dishevelled and at ease. Sometimes he'd brush his hand against hers as he reached for the bottle, leaving it lingering and making her catch her breath as skin stroked skin, the lightest of touches sending tingles racing through her. Those eyes, smouldering with flickers of familiar flames, always checking up on her.

 _She had clutched onto her glass, leaned in closer as she slurred her words slightly. "S'silly, really."_

" _What?" He'd had as much to drink as she had, and yet seemed unaffected._

" _Sometimes I feel like this really is my home."_

 _He gave her another one of those looks from the side of his eyes to question what the hell she was on about. "Well, you probably pay Luigi more drinkin' this rubbish than you do rent."_

 _Her eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of him, that ubiquitous pout so reassuring as well as alluring._

" _With you," she uttered, reaching her hand out clumsily across the table to touch his again. "You feel like home, Gene."_

 _She was met with silence and a long stare, huffing her disappointment as he moved the empty glass out of her reach._

" _Daft as a bloody brush, you are."_

 _She wanted to pull his hand over, do something incredibly girly like place a kiss in the centre of his palm._

 _As intoxicated as she was she didn't think she mistook the affection in his gaze. Before she took another sip she thought that perhaps he was going to make a move to show her how much he cared, but it was just another moment passed._

" _Not to mention several sheets to the wind."_

She closed her eyes, the image of him standing inches from her so vivid; the feel of his lips pressing softer than she ever would have imagined upon hers fading with each day that passed. The sobs started up in her throat, growing more insistent until her shoulders were shaking with force, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"So much for a warm welcome." The voice she heard breaking the silence was gruff, pretending to be displeased – _unmistakable_. "Cheer up, Bolly. Thought you'd be 'appier to see me. But then I never could figure you out, even when you 'ad your hands all over me. Should 'ave made the most of _that_."

Surely she was hearing things, an echo from how long ago she was no longer sure. The phantom voice did sound much more like Gene than she was used to; maybe because she was on her own with no other distractions to cling to instead.

When her eyes opened it was just as well that she was sitting else she'd have fainted to the floor. It would have been fitting, she supposed.

"Came in through the back way 'cause I didn't want the palaver," his coat billowed with the length of his strides, his midnight gaze fixed upon her, "and here you are, blubbering away."

She watched his every movement, the fingers that she always found so elegant and entirely at odds with his brash nature picking up the bottle from the table and refilling her glass, letting it almost overflow.

"Toughen up, Drake. Once a copper, always a copper." The faintest twitch at one corner of his mouth. "And drink up. Nelson must be cursin' me for sendin' you 'ere, with a kipper like that."

Ignoring the wine she stood shakily, taking a few more seconds to regain the power of speech. He was looking at her all the while as she searched him, seeking out every distinguishable feature to ensure that it wasn't someone else in disguise, playing a cruel trick on her.

"Gene," she finally uttered, stepping down from where she had been elevated so that she was level with him, "is it really you?"

"No, it's Father Christmas." He paused for a second or two, playing for effect. "Course it's me, you dozy mare. You can 'ave a good grab if that'll convince yer. I mean, I wouldn't be complainin'."

She drew closer, her hand moving in slow motion against time before she felt him, solid, warm, _real_. Her breath hitched and she fought to hold back her tears as she trailed her fingers upwards, dipping underneath the lapel of his jacket and edging his tie aside. The reliable, well-remembered _thud, thud, thud_ caused her to nearly cry with sheer joy. That, and the way he was staring at her; relentlessly, not giving her an inch to breathe. They had always been one another's lifeboat amidst the many storms and it was only now she realised how close she had come to being submerged, without rescue. But then, he always had a knack for that.

He exhaled deeply; she measured each breath he took. If she could press firmer, fall further until she was a part of him then she would do so in an instant. She needed the simple but utterly wonderful contact like oxygen.

She smiled as she connected her gaze with his again. "I didn't know if I was going mad."

"What d'ya mean, _going_?" he exclaimed. "Yer on your hundredth lap round the track and halfway to comin' back again."

And this was the man she had fallen head over heels for, a million different ways to insult and tease her up his sleeve. In any other moment she would have given back just as good as she got, and the thought made her brighten. Nothing had changed, even with all that had come between them and forced them apart.

"Your 'air's different."

Caught off guard for a second or two, she tangled her fingers into their ends, thinking it rather sweet that he had noticed. "I always wanted curly hair, used to curse that I didn't have it naturally."

It was still weird to her, 'waking up' here one day to find that she looked as she had in her 1981 incarnation. Shortly after she allowed herself to hope that the rest of it would follow – including Gene storming through the door – but alas, it hadn't happened that way.

A rare and precious smile found its way to his face as he appraised her head to toe, eyes glinting. She was absolutely enamoured by him, all those heady and conflicting feelings flooding back. It had always been in her head to leave, and her heart too, but the longer she stayed it had started to feel so natural. She remembered screaming in the dead of night, not long before he had brought them all here, pleading with faceless demons to _please, let her stay._ Being away from him was just too much for her broken heart to bear.

Her words were a whisper when they left her, affected by the tears still welling within her – they couldn't seem to stop.

"I thought you'd never get here," she said, her voice shaking more now that she had got her body under control. "I thought...I thought I'd never see you again."

The smile was still there, though it reduced itself to a simmer, showing most of all in the brilliant blue of his eyes.

"I always keep my promises, Bols."

They'd all told her as much, time and time again, and she felt incredible guilt for ever having doubted him, but then she hadn't had any reasonable control over her emotions in such a long time. Something in her calmed as she absorbed his words, and she realised that she had needed to hear it from him to truly believe.

He moved closer, so much that they were sharing breath. Her head was whirling – she'd forgotten precisely how dizzy his presence made her when he was so near – and she swore that she could have taken flight, but the touch of his hand upon her face anchored her. She inhaled too quickly, her eyes locked with his, losing herself with the greatest abandon. Only now was she truly letting go and it wasn't terrifying, as she had always imagined it would be.

"I've told yer before," he started, his fingertips burning pleasantly against her skin, trailing tingles in their wake when they hadn't even left her yet, "I go where I'm needed."

She nodded silently, thinking back to the version of the worst day of her life which hadn't existed but remembering it as truer than the reality, accompanied by all the other times that Gene had been her saviour.

A glimmer lit his eyes as his thumb cascaded higher along her cheekbone, catching her tears before they fell too far.

"An' judgin' by the state of yer, I'd say I'm needed right 'ere, right now."

His gaze bore into her own, his fingers sweeping delicately across her cheek. She was overwhelmed by the notion that the feeling was mutual – even if he'd never dare say as much – and her heart went wild with happiness, tainted by the lingering fear that this was all the product of her fevered imagination.

Her hand grabbed onto his arm, just as he had wanted, to ascertain the truth.

"And you're staying?" she asked, already dreading his reply. "Here?"

"Given that I've been given me marchin' orders from the station, I'm buggered otherwise. Don't really fancy shiverin' me arse off every night while you're gettin' happily pissed, livin' in the lap of luxury."

She rolled her eyes at him lovingly; as convivial as it was here, it was hardly what she would call luxurious. Still, she was starting to see the place with different eyes already. Trust him to change the mood completely – she had been so close to leaning in and aligning her mouth with his, carried away on the returned wave of emotion and finally doing precisely what she had dreamed about from long before the moment she had walked away from him.

"Just as well," he said and she watched faithfully, still hypnotised by the shape of his lips. "The '90s were shit. You could 'ave at least warned me, Bols, then I would 'ave thought twice about tellin' yer to go."

A smile started to spark upon her lips, her head tilting to take him in from a different angle.

"Well, some things just aren't the same until you find them out for yourself."

Her hand moved to the nape of his neck, she heard the pace of his breathing change as her fingertips danced between the soft hair and sensitive skin there. The heat between them rose up again and burned stronger than ever. She made a small sound of longing when their lips touched, a wonderful repetition of the only other time, and then the spark quickly transformed into a flame followed by an unstoppable fire. His hands pulled her closer, caressed her face as the kiss deepened, lengthening to the lifetime they had both waited for. She clung to him just the same, another single tear escaping from behind her tightly-shut eyes. Both of them were able to taste it while they remained wrapped up in one another, becoming lost and simultaneously found.

She was breathing hard, renewed by knowing every sense of him, smiling stupidly while their foreheads rested together and her fingers traced the curve of his jaw. She was never one for being so sentimental, and she hadn't craved such contact in the aftermath as she did right now, with him.

"Mmm," he exhaled, his breath warm upon her, "not bad for a posh bird."

She laughed with delight, the first time in a long time. Her hands trailed slowly down from his face to his chest; she couldn't think to stop touching him, and thought it was just as well that they hadn't shared such a passionate and simply mind-blowing kiss beforehand otherwise she never would have been able to tear herself away from him, no matter how firmly he told her to go, even if he had dragged her to the door.

His gaze was even more intense upon her as they pulled a little apart and as much as she loved his undivided attention she found herself giggling to break the tension.

"What?" she had to question him.

"Christ, I've missed you," he confessed, gliding his hand at the small of her back. The half-unexpected confession sent goosepimples prickling all over her, and the smile to rise once more on her face. "I thought it was bad before, but you took me heart with yer when you waltzed off." He paused for thought, giving her enough time to catch her stolen breath. "You and the Quattro, that is. S'about 70/30."

She only hoped that she was the bigger portion in that equation, thinking that he had been dangerously on the verge of sounding romantic.

"Oh I've been alright goin' through the motions, but it's never been the same since you all left. And it wasn't like before, I couldn't just turn to the bottle. And I bloody tried. There's not enough booze in the world that could make me forget." His brows arched upwards and his head jutted forward, attempting to hold onto some of his pride. "Been a bit lost without my Bollykecks as it turns out."

Her heart leapt up and the blood fizzed in her veins – she wasn't quite sure how it was able to still do that – hearing him speak of her as _his_. The old Alex would have balked at being referred to in such a way, but she wondered if it was all relative to the situation and more importantly the person. She wasn't sure how much of her former self was really her anyway, the boundaries had become so blurred. It was only her love for Molly that bore any similarity; even the love she had held for her parents had changed in the light of revelation.

"Aren't you worried about being called a 'poof'?" she teased him lightly.

He shrugged his shoulders, mouth contorting into a pout which she found immensely kissable. "With that lot? Nah," he firmly reasoned. His hands had started to wander, skimming over her jean-clad bum. "Besides, there are some things that are for your ears only, Bols."

With that he proceeded to lean forward, dipping his mouth to her ear and whispering a string of explicit words.

"Gene!" she exclaimed, tapping her hand against his chest, defenceless against the cheeky glint in his eyes. She couldn't even pretend to be shocked, not when he was giving voice to all of her own slightly depraved fantasies.

"I've 'ad eleven years to think of all the things I want to do to you without at least 'aving the pleasure to look at yer and seein' nearly everything you 'ad for breakfast. There's plenty more where that came from, sweetheart."

She grinned at the smirk he wore, finding herself very pleased about that fact, her stomach already beginning to surge and tingle.

"Speakin' of which," he took hold of her hand, the urgency she had in mind seizing hold of him, "you'd better lead the way. I'm guessin' you've got yer own room, not sure what I think to doin' it in the bogs. Though if it's the only option..."

"Gene," she repeated his name again, trying to keep composure. The desperation she felt for him was threatening to break, and she could think of nothing better than dragging him upstairs and letting him rip her clothes off, if she didn't get to his first. But she had to be reasonable. "They're all waiting to see you. You can't let them down."

She could see that he was getting ready to argue with her, and part of her relished the prospect.

"Think Sergeant Rock would beg to differ, Bols."

She shook her head, feeling suddenly very flushed. "Standing everyone up isn't what the Gene-Genie does."

Huffing loudly, he planted his hands in his pockets. There were some downsides to having such a legendary reputation as the finest Guv there was, after all.

"Blimey, I 'aven't been 'ere for ten minutes and you're already bossin' me about."

"You'd better get used to it," she retorted with a flourish.

This was what she had dreamed of, longed for, and it seemed so surreal that it should finally be true, and that she should feel even more ecstatic than she imagined she would be.

"I've missed you too," she uttered, the soft sincerity of her tone coupled with the stroke of her hand up his torso lessening his groused expression. "More than once I ever thought possible, and even more than I expected I would when I left you. And I knew then I'd miss you terribly."

She felt his hands tense as they lay upon her. "I'm sorry, Bols. But you know I 'ad to do it."

"Shh, you don't need to explain. I know, and I'm glad you did, really." She smiled at him, letting him know that she understood; he had only ever wanted to protect her, and to give them a real chance in this world, this afterlife where everything could begin again despite all the odds and impossibilities. "But now, I can't even tell you how happy I am."

"I reckon I've got a fair idea, Bolly," he said, hardly disguising his own joy at the fact.

The feel of his hands claiming her waist, his thumbs rubbing idly at her hipbones only added to the sparks that charged through her.

"And Gene?" she uttered, her voice deliberately husky. "Seeing as we've got all the time in the world, I think that promise you're on will be fulfilled many times over."

His eyes flared at her words; she saw how they turned several shades darker in the space of seconds.

"I bloody well 'ope so!"

Alex shrieked with joy as he lifted her up, her arms looping round his shoulders while the floor fell away from her for a few moments. She may as well have been flying, she considered, and she relished every second but didn't at all mind her feet being back on the ground and her lips on Gene's once more. When they parted after long moments she whispered three special words to him - ones she had waited to say for so long - and was bowled over to hear him repeat them back to her so quickly, their embrace stretching on for some time before they decided that it was time to join the others, at least for a little while.

All she had wanted had come to her, and now it really did feel like heaven.

* * *

 **A/N: _Heaven Is A Place On Earth_ written by Rick Nowels and Ellen Shipley, and sung by Belinda Carlisle. It was released in September 1987 so, according to canon calculations, Alex would have indeed been fourteen 'first time around'.**

 **The song was featured in the San Junipero episode of _Black Mirror_ (which has narrative similarities to A2A), but I think it's perfect for Alex and her relation to Gene's world (and a Galex song, by that reckoning. I have a very long list...)**


End file.
